


kismet

by catastrophes



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, lapslock, whispers just remember you have to die to be reincarnated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:31:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophes/pseuds/catastrophes
Summary: just like the land and the sea, seongwu and minhyun will always be fated to meet





	1. kismet

 

 

 

_the heart can think of no devotion,_

_greater than being shore to the ocean—_

_holding the curve of one position_

_counting an endless repetition._

 

\- robert frost 

 

 

⊹ 

 

 

 

this is the story of the land and the sea,

and how they will always be fated to meet.

 

 

`

  

 

“please stay with me,” the first land pleads desperately. “i’m so very lonely.”

but because of the moon and the tides, the first sea can only answer in return, “i’m sorry, i can't. but i promise i will be back.”

he does keep his word, eventually—only after the land has cried, cried, cried, and has missed the sea for what feels like eternity. 

 

at least the land learns when the sea returns,

that late is better than never. 

 

 

`

 

  

( even if the sea that comes home isn't quite the same sea that left. )

 

  

` 

 

 

seongwu meets minhyun one afternoon, just after the rain.

"hi, i'm minhyun." 

he glances down at the proffered hand as the wind stirs to pick up the leaves around them. there’s an infinitesimal pause where the world stands still, before his heartbeat begins to race, rocket swift.

it’s a wonder, that even after multiple lifetimes, seongwu is always stunned by minhyun.

but he’s done it before, he can do it again.

he forces himself not to launch at the other male or to scoop him up into the tightest hug. forces himself to remain a comfortable distance away, to accept the hand pressed into his palm and act politely indifferent. forces himself not to linger and to release the lifeline despite feeling like if he does, the other will vanish as he has done before.

seongwu stares at the other who he hopes is not just minhyun—but _his_ minhyun, the one who will always be more than just another person.

maybe a stranger. maybe an enemy. maybe a friend. maybe a lover.

but always, always his sea.

all he says however is: "hi, i'm seongwu. it's nice to meet you.” 

 

( what he means is: it's nice to meet you again. so remember me, hold me tight and never let go. )

 

  

`

 

  

in this life, minhyun writes music. or attempts to.

in this life, seongwu takes pictures. or attempts to.

 

 

`

 

 

a shutter clicks.

"stop it, it's too early for this," minhyun complains as they stand waiting for the train. 

seongwu lowers the camera. looks at the screen. minhyun's face imprints deeper on his mind. 

in the picture, minhyun's eyes are partly closed and his hair is rumpled, probably caused by a late night at the studio. seongwu grins lazily and shows it to the other male. "but you look cute. in a very sleepy, dead-inside kind of way."

minhyun shoots him a measured look. "delete it." 

seongwu holds his tongue, refuses to rise to the bait. he doesn’t tell minhyun that every single expression of his, is his favorite. 

not yet anyway. 

even though he knows that minhyun can never be immortalized in his full glory—not in simple pixels, nor within his capricious memory; seongwu still wants to record every moment so he doesn't forget. never forgets.

because whilst photographs are merely a substitute for the truth; nothing but a pale imitation of the most beautiful moments in life— _this particular life_ —they’re still better than having nothing in his darkest times.

the ones seongwu knows are inexorable. 

because for as long as he can remember, happiness has remained precious and fleeting. but he holds it close to him regardless.

since that’s all he can do. 

seongwu brings his camera to his eye again. this time allowing it to capture lines and curves that shape into exasperation mixed with a tinge of fondness. but in the depths, there _it_ is, an unspoken yearning and it’s an expression that consistently twists his insides into knots, because he knows what it will lead to. what it has always led to. 

but for now, seongwu ignores everything to comment casually with no hint of teasing, "oh, this one is perfect.”

 

( what he means is: they are _all_ perfect. )

 

  

`

 

 

the calendar walks on.

even though seongwu already knows so many different things, he learns new ones as well: 

 

he learns that minhyun buys pink peaches to keep whenever seongwu comes over, even though he, himself would normally prefer purple grapes.

he learns that minhyun's face paints a pale green when he sees the oozing rust color on seongwu's knee, squeamish when he's never been before. 

he learns that minhyun's ears aren't the only part that glows red when he tells seongwu softly, “i really like you.”

he learns that minhyun always looks best during daybreak, when a collision of colors flicker outside despite the sleep lines on his cheek. 

he learns that minhyun is going to break his heart again.

 

because the first land learns that the new sea once again does not remember. 

 

 

` 

 

 

but the warmth seongwu is still given,

streams in gold like sunlight, to run within the fissures that line throughout him, 

filling it deeply, holding him together. 

 

 

`

 

 

“do you think it’s possible we’ll see each other again?”

seongwu peers up from the mess on the table before him. a dishevelment of parts where he’s been painstakingly assembling his new film camera.

minhyun’s question is like a thread woven through the air that stretches to find seongwu—drawing them tight together. 

playing pretend, seongwu picks his reply carefully. “what do you mean?”

minhyun is still engrossed in his laptop, attempting to complete the song of his dreams. his half-drunk sencha tea now left cold, unattended. a slight frown mars his brow. “reincarnation. you know, like meeting in our next life,” he says at last, voice soft, restrained.

seongwu’s heart half-lurches.

it propels through the space between them only to stop short when his gaze locks with minhyun’s.

for a split second, he thinks that there is something _celestial_ —

but seongwu sighs when he feels the same familiar feeling as always lodge deep between his ribs. 

sighs when he doesn't see any of the recognition he so keenly wishes for.

dancing shadows play wild on minhyun's face and seongwu still tucks it into his memory bank despite the disappointment. filed away with the rest. sheathed with patience, seongwu allows himself to breathe, an inhalation. “mhm, i don’t know.” he allows himself to joke, “i don’t know if i could stand being with you a second time.”

the lingering lie hovers blatant on his tongue.

( because he’s already lived through it, over and over. )

minhyun ignores the jibe, musing, "i would hope i'd recognize you if we did meet again." an open, unguarded expression. an honesty to his words.

seongwu can only laugh now, before attempting to cover the brittle, bitter sound with forced optimism. "i hope so too." 

 

( what he means is: i’ll walk through endless lifetimes so find me. please. )

 

 

`

 

 

however— 

time passes, and the inevitable happens.

on the day of minhyun’s accident, seongwu feels his entire world slip through his fingers.

the pain overwhelms him like a blackened fist to the heart, before it slowly crawls up his throat—to make him choke, to beg, to cry—wishing that he never let minhyun leave in the first place. 

red threatens to spill from seongwu’s hands, as his nails clench down, digging deep on his palms.

“i’m sorry sir, there was nothing more we could do. he died on impact at the scene.”

 

  

`

 

 

seongwu used to think that it was highly irrational to believe that the universe would be emptier if one person were to leave it.

until it happened.

 

 

`

 

 

( again. )

 

  

`

 

 

( and again. )

  

 

` 

 

 

( and again. )

 

 

`

  

 

it’s still infinitely better than the lives where they never meet at all.

 

 

`

 

 

seongwu sits there long after the call, ignoring the lit up phone next to him, full of frantic, concerned messages.

seongwu sits there long after the call, just folding, folding, folding minhyun’s clothes:

 

the grey hoodie;

that makes seongwu hear the pointless fight they had once on a dreary day early on, rain pouring heavily outside. the same grey hoodie that makes him smell the wisp of smoke from the cigarette that he had lifted to his mouth, frustrated. the distant promise of ashes before he heard, within the darkness—a voice calling to him, chasing him. to leave burning embers orange on the asphalt.

 

the light blue shirt;

that he had lent minhyun and never got back. the same blue shirt that makes seongwu see the endless stretch of cerulean sky above them as they had lain sprawled on the grassy hill. it makes him hear the giddy laughter that had wound around them and remembers feeling a heart full and lined by something that must have been love, being there with minhyun.

 

the yellow sweater;

that makes seongwu taste minhyun’s perfectly cooked eggs sunny side up just the way he’s always liked it. the breakfast that he had made time for despite being late for work since he knew he only had himself to blame. the same yellow sweater that makes him see the absolute sun—minhyun’s beaming smile and the overwhelming kaleidoscope of every other color, knowing that it has always been love after all.

seongwu sits there long after the call and thinks: it should be minhyun sitting here.

 

( what he means is: it should have been me instead. )

 

  

`

  

 

“you should go to the beach,” dongho says. or slurs really, in between countless drinks; bloodshot eyes sad and filled with regret. a mirror to seongwu's own state except it's familiar to him. “to say goodbye to him.”

seongwu stares blankly at everything black now. the black tie, the black shirt, and the black jacket. he's only half-listening when dongho repeats the appeal slowly, words rolling hesitatingly off his tongue, "you should go. he'd want you to go."

the lump in seongwu’s throat is a stone that never leaves. no matter how many times it happens.

really, how can it, when it feels like half of him is gone and continues to remain gone? 

today, he feels minhyun’s last song itching under his skin, longing to be finished, but it remains half-formed and half-vacant.

today, he looks out the window, skyline neon bright, a contrast to the dimness within him and wonders about the day minhyun will return to him, with a “thank you for waiting” on his lips.

if it’ll ever come, that is.

“maybe tomorrow,” seongwu replies, paralyzed to his seat.

 

 

`

 

 

and the promise remains empty and acidic when seongwu wakes up the next morning as he once again ignores the vibrations of his phone.

tomorrow is just another word, and is just another day. 

after lying there for seconds, minutes, hours, who really knows, seongwu drags himself out of bed, skimming his fingers along the cool other side. out of the corner of his eye, he sees a row of striped shirts hanging meticulously in their closet before he walks out towards the kitchen.

their apartment is getting messy, much messier than it has been in a long time and seongwu halts in his steps. he bends down to switch on the roomba, the robotic vacuum cleaner that he'd playfully called their pet when they had initially bought it, now aptly keeping him company as he proceeds to systematically flip through their mail:

their joint bank account statement, water, gas, electricity bills, and various pamphlets from their favorite takeaway store. 

amidst the background humming, seongwu can virtually hear minhyun's nagging voice in his head, _don't leave it too late_. 

seongwu blinks the fog away from his vision; all shades of nothing and everything.

he feels the burden on his chest grow heavier against him. so, he just returns to bed again. 

yesterday is today is tomorrow. 

  

 

`

 

 

"did he ever complete it?" dongho broaches carefully. the song, he's talking about the song.

he's stopped asking about the previous subject months ago, although this one is not much better. 

seongwu closes his eyes—to see before him, minhyun sitting right there, headphones over his ears, tongue poking out slightly with a frown on his face as he scribbles out something else on his notepad, before looking up to smile absently at him. 

seongwu closes his eyes—to see before him, himself finally bringing up the courage to click on the file icon on minhyun's laptop. to gently gather the broken shards of hope and hold it close to his heart when he had noticed the track title:  

> outro - reset

"no," seongwu replies back in the present, in a strained whisper.

dongho can only hum in response. silence fills the ensuing gap before he finally says, "you know it's okay to move on?" 

seongwu exhales. ”i know." 

 

( what he means is: i just don't know how. even after all this time. )

  

 

`

 

  

seongwu and minhyun used to go to the beach together. to the place where the land meets the sea.

they used to go to the beach together where minhyun had run up to him once, palms cupped full of glass that lined the spectrum of blue and green. “sea jewels,” he said laughingly, voice perfusing seongwu’s senses. “my present to you.”

they used to go to the beach together where minhyun’s hand would curl around seongwu's waist, a tug on his shirt. “careful.” a stable red warning at his back as they stand just short of the crash and the spray, staring into the horizon for what seemed like forever.

they used to go to the beach together where they would meet the rolling tide with smiles on their faces, like meeting an old friend. where seongwu would yell minhyun’s name, and raise his camera to capture him, cheekbones pink from the whipping wind.

to make permanent, the way minhyun looked _alive_ , and happy with a faraway dream in his eye.

but,

now seongwu goes to the beach alone.

he could visit anywhere else, but the beach is special, as it was—well _is, and will always_ be their place.

he goes in autumn; weeks after summer to avoid the hoards of crowds that spill onto the sand during the heat of the season, and weeks before the bone chilling ice of winter kick in.

he goes in autumn; because he likes remembering the way that minhyun had looked in his reddish-brown coat. the one that seongwu had bought him, matching the colors of the surrounding falling leaves because it had emphasized the warmth in minhyun's eyes, directed just at seongwu.

he goes in autumn; because that's when they first and have always met. 

 

 

`

 

 

it is befitting that seongwu is the one that will remain here; waiting, waiting, waiting.

grounded as the land, not able to do much except to patiently watch as the receding sea continually slips through his tight, desperate grasp. 

however, as much as it hurts, he'll accept it. as long as the sea always returns to him.

because it’ll be just enough.

( it has to be. )

 

after countless centuries of routine—once, the land whines petulantly, "i want to leave too."

a comforting smile. "do you really?" the sea questions in a sympathetic voice, white bubbling froth lapping at the shoreline. 

the land breathes the autumn air, stares at the shimmering brilliance of the sea before realizing that nothing will shine brighter from this angle.

“no—," the land hesitatingly admits as he widely opens his arms again to welcome the returning break of waves. "i guess not." a shrug. "i rather be the one that you always come back home to." 

 

 

`

 

 

( it just isn't fair, that the first land remembers everything that the new sea doesn't. )

( but, not remembering doesn't mean forgetting. )

 

  

`

 

  

right?

 

 

`

 

  

months ago, when the sun was still sleeping, minhyun had threaded his fingers rhythmically through seongwu's hair, back and forth, exactly like the gentle cresting of the tide against the beach. minhyun had then leant down to press a delicate kiss to the underside of seongwu's jaw.

inhaled deep against the flesh of his skin, and promised, “don’t worry, i will be back."

 

 

` 

   

 

> kis•met/ noun. definition: destiny; fate

  

 

`

 

 

they say that time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. 

seongwu has lived through it first hand and the echoing cavern inside him is continued proof. 

 

 

`

 

 

seongwu stands there at the water's edge for hours.

he stands there, grounded as the first land waiting for the first sea to return.

white shoes encasing his feet, stark and blinding against the compact, brown sand. he fills his lungs with deep breaths of autumn’s embrace. lets the waves begin to stain the hem of his jeans a deep, dark blue, as he watches the sky bleed color as the sun begins to rise beyond the line of the earth—lacquered gold streaking across the vast palette. 

seongwu lifts his camera and takes one last picture. he murmurs, "we were happy before." a silent vow goes unsaid: _we will be happy again_.

he then sifts his fingers through sand, through rocks, through shells, to pick up a peach and ivory conch.

ignoring all the other sounds on the beach, he picks it up to hold it against his ear, to listen.

 

and after so long, of muddling through all the empty spaces—the ones left behind by minhyun, 

seongwu hears part of the unfinished song,

the first land hears something that sounds like the first sea. 

 

 

`

 

 

this is the story of the land and the sea. 

and how some things are worth waiting for. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

this is the story of the land and the sea.

and how the water comes alive.

 

 

`

 

 

it’s strange, growing up in a port city surrounded by the longest river, and the largest sea for minhyun to have a distaste for the water.

but he has, ever since he was young.

he doesn’t like big bodies of water especially and doesn’t like the way that it feels foreign—a swirling mess of darkness that seemingly keeps pulling him away from security, from stability.

the lack of love likely also stems from the fact that minhyun had once died in the sea.

it happened when minhyun had been five.

he can barely remember it himself. over the years, his brain has fabricated and pieced the event together from his parents’ recollections about how he had once been swept out by the waves as a child.

they tell him, it had taken him almost a full minute to be resuscitated, to begin gasping for air again.

thinking back, minhyun can now almost drink again, the heavy liquid that had kept him from resurfacing, entering his lungs to replace his life force with saline instead. he can almost see the overwhelming black again when he closes his eyes, and feel the way that his fingers had clawed through translucent fluid for what felt like endless hours until he could feel nothing.

minhyun remembers the way that the water hadn’t welcomed him, hadn’t healed him then, but instead—

it had left him different.

changed.

 

 

`

 

 

since then, they come and go when he sleeps. like fragments of memories that he’s supposed to remember but they remain fractured and incomprehensible. it makes him feel unsettled because while they feel like they are a part of him, but at the same time, not his own.

at 3am, minhyun feels a hand stretching out to him, placing warm fingers in between his.

at 4am, hears the stirring echoed strains of a song that he doesn’t quite recognize.

at 5am, sees a constellation of three pointed starbursts that fill his vision.

but whenever he wakes—pierces through the veil of sleep back into harsh reality, the vague moments continuously escape him. and no matter how hard he tries to make sense of it, it’s just as useless as trying to grab hold of water.

 

 

`

 

 

“getting the headaches again?” a voice questions.

minhyun pulls his thumb and index finger away from where he had been pinching the bridge of his nose and blinks open his eyes. the haze slowly dissolves to reveal the scene before him.

dongho stands near the roadside stall with two hotteoks in either hand, and concern stamped on his face.

“yeah, they’re especially bad today but it’s fine.” minhyun waves the worry away and takes the cup containing the sweet fried pancake. “probably just been practicing too much without enough rest. you know the drill.”

dongho assents placidly, though minhyun knows, dongho knows better. knows that minhyun has suffered from these lingering symptoms whenever he has a particularly intense night since even before they met.

but he doesn’t push and minhyun is thankful.

they walk back towards the bus stop. crisp and rhythmic as their feet crunch against the blanket of dying leaves on the ground.

“do you think we’ll make it?” dongho breaks the tranquility. minhyun notes that he doesn’t say debut, because that isn’t the question they all have despite still awaiting the date—the unsaid question rather, is will they be successful?

the saturated market and the insecurity over their skills hang heavy over their heads.

minhyun looks over at dongho, who stares at him with an expression that conveys a thousand words, but at the soft foundation— _is this all worth it?_ and there,minhyun is reminded of the immediate immense, crushing pressure.

but before he can reply back, he stumbles.

accidentally walks into another person—a student, judging from his uniform.

a few eyelashes shorter than him, and a face that makes him feel like he’ll never forget.

should never forget.

a wall of sudden nostalgia slams against minhyun when his eyes search the other’s, whose eyes are boring a hole straight into him. he suddenly sees tiny flashes of blue. along with a dozen shades of yellow, red and gold which all wedge an unfathomable emotional turmoil inside him. it mirrors the confusion that parallels the one he experiences under the light of the moon.

but why?

minhyun has never met him before in his life.

right?

apologies part easily from the boy’s lips, and minhyun sees the other open his mouth again to say something else. but before he can hear it, it gets replaced by dongho’s order instead.

“we’re going to miss the bus! hurry!”

despite the soft vice clamping around his heart, and the belated awareness that the stars before him are the same stars he sees at night, minhyun allows himself to melt into the crowd. to be firmly tugged by his friend towards the leaving vehicle, leaving the lone boy behind.

however before he lets this memory get buried into the recesses of his brain, minhyun sounds out the name he glimpsed on the tag.

“ong seong wu.”

it should mean absolutely nothing to him but his heart beats so painfully within him that he forces himself to concentrate on the way the three syllables suspend in the air before him. focuses on how it tastes both unfamiliar, and familiar on his tongue. it is but an ephemeral transitional period before it begins to fade away just like the light of the setting sun around them.

so minhyun tucks the name away, to keep it safe.

the bus continues on its slow journey.

“don’t worry, we’ll make it,” minhyun breathes out when the scene changes, finally answering dongho’s previous question. “someday.”

a bittersweet follow up.

but simultaneously, minhyun thinks—hopes, that it will be more sweet than bitter, and he clings to the reverberations against his chest.

clings to it when they need it the most.

 

 

`

 

 

over the subsequent years, through failure and fall, minhyun is continually plagued with remnants of the indescribable feeling that still isn’t quite able to be explained with words, except perhaps by the ties to the one particular name.

he continues to be plagued by dreams of everything and nothing. of himself in increasingly detailed scenes that have no rhyme or reason, of jarring sensations and a lingering vacancy that leaves him feeling like he's possibly lost a vital part of himself.

( but how do you lose something that you can’t ever remember possessing? )

he continues to be plagued when the snatches of memories finally give way to manifest into the full shape of the boy with stars, this time both on his cheek and in his eyes, and a heavy pull like gravity that ties minhyun down, to be earthbound.

he continues to be plagued especially after their universes collide and realign once more when they end up meeting in an inexplicable place.

nu’est had decided to enter a survival programme that was designed to hopefully give them a new lease of life. and it’s here where minhyun is faced again with the same boy with stars both on his cheek and in his eyes.

when they introduce themselves to each other, minhyun stares at the crooked smile before him and he thinks, i’ve met you before. you look just like the boy in my dreams.

but even more strangely; he looks exactly like you.

 

however all he says is, “hi, i’m minhyun.”

and the reply comes back, “hi, i know.”

minhyun doesn’t place much weight in the statement at the time, figures it’s an offhand remark about their previous idol status. but when the same now identifiable voice permeates through his mind to take residence again that very night,

and every night following,

that, well, is enough to make minhyun begin to unconsciously feel alive again.

 

 

`

 

 

“ong seongwu.”

this is the first time since the initial day they ran into each other, that minhyun has allowed himself to say the name out loud.

to pick him for his team.

he spent days talking to dongho about it after he’d been finding it increasingly difficult to try and connect all the dots, wondering what bigger picture was. and they both came to the same conclusion—that it was simply chemistry, just ongoing attraction.

but somehow, minhyun still can’t shake off the incessant daydream coating him and the pitting in his stomach that trails after every limited wordless interactions they have—a polite inclination of heads, a cursory matching of eyes that seem to hold countless secrets or a small smile that leaves minhyun focusing on lips that shouldn’t make him feel like he’s tasted them before.

so minhyun uses his very own hands to pull seongwu’s world closer to his own.

because he’s never liked the _what ifs_.

 

and minhyun is not sure when it happened.

when he calls out the other male’s name in front of the crowd of trainees, he is met with frighteningly genuine emotion for a fast second, but the expression is only momentary and gives way to the collected and enthusiastic illusion that seongwu is known for.

he’s not sure when he first started picking up on the signs, the subtle threads of emotions that hide behind seongwu’s seeming perfection.

nor is he sure how the other male has somehow cemented himself on minhyun’s radar or why he continually dredges up the feeling of déjà vu. but minhyun can’t deny the way that seongwu makes him feel the churning of waves within him despite not being in the ocean since that day.

can’t deny the way that it feels like minhyun has known seongwu for years.

and wants to know him for years to come.

 

 

`

 

 

“still up?” seongwu’s whisper slices through the darkness—the same darkness that sometimes makes minhyun feel like he’s drowning again.

since the accident, minhyun has always had trouble falling sleeping at night.

and it is tonight that is one of those sleepless nights. the same ones that seongwu has caught on to, deigning to keep him company whilst the rest of their teammates lay dead to the world, hidden under blankets and layers of fatigue.

minhyun thinks perhaps his insomnia is because of the dreams. perhaps not wishing to fall asleep since it just means one step closer to being awake, and feeling that same feeling that he still doesn’t quite have the words for—the one that has him bolting upright in the morning, to grasp for thin air and search for an answer that never comes.

( even though lately sometimes, minhyun thinks the answer may lie right here in the same room as him. )

( but, how do you tell someone that you barely even know, that they feature in every single one of your dreams, even the ones that had occurred prior to before you met? )

“yeah,” minhyun says, careful not to let his voice get too loud. he adds, “even since i was young, i dream a lot.” he pauses. “too much i think.”

“nightmares?”

minhyun rolls over, cheek now pressed against the pillow. he lets his voice drift across the chasm, “sometimes.”

“want to tell me about them?” seongwu asks gently, maybe too gently and minhyun thinks it almost sounds choked. but his own throat is thick tonight, with all that he doesn’t know what to say, and so he lets silence entrench between them.

until he’s reminded that seongwu deserves a better reply and so he does.

“maybe when i finally remember.”

 

 

`

 

 

as they continue to soldier on, withstanding through never-ending days of weary practice that result in blistered feet and tired minds, minhyun catalogues how the budding ache in the corners of his heart grows infinitely stronger to almost overtake him.

it is accompanied hand in hand with the knowledge that he is becoming closer to seongwu, who has persisted in staying by his side without asking for anything explicit in return. minhyun, merely curious initially, becomes increasingly dependent on the companionship that their same aged friendship provides.

he becomes familiar to the sight of seongwu waiting for him after practice with a water bottle. familiar to their shared conversation deep into the night, not about dreams, but about fears and fantasies and everything in between, and familiar to the way whenever seongwu touches his arm and breathes ragged words of gratitude into his ear, distant waves of intuitive yearning quickly begin to topple over him—

threatening to overpower him—

threatening to submerge him—

before making minhyun realize that even though they may not have ultimately shared the same path in more ways than one, seongwu’s roots still weaves and grows around his, interlinking so closely in a way that feels so acutely haunting.

but at the same time,

so very comforting.

 

 

`

 

 

“we’re going to debut together.”

"finally."

as minhyun wraps seongwu in an encompassing hug, their bodies slot together perfectly as if they had never been apart.

 

  
`

 

 

"what are you doing?"

minhyun looks up from his laptop. takes off his headphones. there's a glint in seongwu's eyes as they rake over him but it vanishes like quicksilver.

"do you remember i said i had dreams?" seongwu nods, the barest of perceptible motions. "well, there's also a constant melody that i hear every night that i can't place." a frown knits on minhyun's brow. "i thought maybe inspiration would strike." minhyun lets out a laugh as he allows the furrows to relax, gesturing to the beat maker on the screen. "but something still feels like it's missing."

minhyun rubs a knuckle over his breast bone—an attempt to soothe but it just creates friction and sparks. seongwu moves closer to him, leans over and there's a searching quality within his gaze that minhyun again can't place.

"can i take a listen?" seongwu asks, mellow and steady.

"go ahead. maybe you can fill in the gaps," minhyun replies smoothly as he moves the cursor to click the play button.

the song immediately surrounds them and there's a two minute interlude where minhyun's dulcet tone is the only sound they can hear.  

a fist curls, uncurls.

“is it that bad?” minhyun jokes when the silence returns, taking in the tension carved on seongwu’s face. a breeze sweeps into the stale room to graze against minhyun’s cheek.

seongwu straightens up and the lines soften. “no, far from that” he murmurs, calm, deliberate before he adds, “it just sounds like something i’ve heard before.”

“plagiarism?” minhyun tosses back lightly.

seongwu laughs, a raw sound emitting from his throat. “not like that, but just—“ he pauses, and there’s the smallest tremor in his voice now, “familiar. like wishing to return to your loved ones after being away for so long kind of familiar.” as seongwu takes a step back, the space between them begins to feel awfully close and awfully wide at the same time.

minhyun frowns again. unsure what to make of it.

throughout the time that minhyun has known seongwu, there’s a constant nostalgia that exudes from all of seongwu’s words and actions—feels like he’s holding stories back on the tip of his tongue. biting down on his lip, minhyun wonders what seongwu is seeing, what he’s thinking—

because whenever he looks at seongwu, minhyun always feels like he’s remembering a place he’s never been to, somewhere he can’t pin down.

but before he can respond, seongwu beats him to it by humming the song under his breath.

and _there_ , minhyun hears it, like an intimate whisper echoing through his ears and lining the pockets of his silence. and just like the forces of nature, it can never be denied—

and so,

“sing it with me, please,” minhyun instructs in a sudden moment of urgency.

and when seongwu does as he’s told, his gilded voice wraps around minhyun, dousing him in a sudden waterfall of adrenaline that gives him courage to finally see through the static, and to slowly begin claiming the thousands of memories that he could never put words to before.  

 

 

`

 

 

before the sea returns back to the land, he looks up into the sky at the moon.

and takes in how it looks different day to day, from the new moon to a waxing crescent, to the full moon, to a waning crescent and finally to back to the old moon again.

and realizes that the moon still remains the same moon throughout the entire process.

and so the sea thinks,

despite the coming and goings of the tides, he is still the same sea after all too.

 

the first land anxiously questions out loud, “how long more do i have to wait?”

and the first sea replies, unfailingly, “not much longer.”

 

 

`

 

 

minhyun disappears from his bed night after night. 

he has no concept of time—seconds and minutes becoming meaningless as the pulse of sleep lines his veins.

 

it always begins like this:

 

icy water seeping into every pore. into the molecules of his bones.

a ton of bricks that holds him under the surface.

but after their duet it becomes much more than that. more than the way the sea used to saturate his senses and fill him with a hunger that reached within him so deep—made him want to cry physical tears because triumph always used to remain just fractionally out of reach.

it becomes more because minhyun now begins to dream of blood and smoke and fire.

he dreams of a primal pang of instinct—of stubborn survival—but no matter how much he tries to distinguish between reality and figment, what only results is the way death encrusts the insides of his nose, so putrid and thick until he can’t breath.

he dreams about the way crimson stains the streets like scattered flower petals across a river bed, allowing only red to color his vision.

he dreams about the way white light engulfs him when the first snow of the year ( of every year ) pelts around him.

 

but lastly, here minhyun dreams of stars again.

and of the way it illuminates an iridescent road to guide him where he needs to go.

 

 

`

 

 

  
“since we’ve got the day off, let’s go to the beach.”

seongwu looks up, startled. “but you don’t like going near the ocean?”  

minhyun tosses him car keys, the one he managed to bribe their manager to part with. seongwu catches them, facing him with a disbelieving expression.

but behind dark amber, minhyun can see faint consternation so he urges, “you don’t either, but it’s something we should do today. trust me.”

 

the entire drive there is quiet, but brimming with unsaid words.

 

 

`

   

 

>  jour•ney/ noun. definition: an act of traveling from one place to another ; a process likened to traveling, such as a series of trying experiences; a passage

 

 

`

 

 

the air always smells different the morning after a storm.

the pair of them are standing on the shoreline, right where the land meets the sea.

“so, why are we here?”

the crash of the waves culminating against sand, and seagulls circling the air are the only noises that minhyun can hear, but the look that seongwu shoots his way speaks in volumes, filling his cavities.

“seongwu, do you remember the day we first met?”

seongwu doesn’t say anything for a short period, just bends down to pick up a shell. to toy it between his fingers.   

minhyun waits patiently.

( because what are seconds compared to centuries? )

when seongwu swivels around to exchange stares with minhyun, there’s an indecipherable expression on his face. his eyes gleam with a translucency that minhyun has subconsciously learned how to read—the one that conveys everything that seongwu’s heart could not.

the same eyes that convey a fast flash of hesitance and wistfulness before halfway shuttering, to turn opaque again.

minhyun also doesn’t miss the accompanied tense shoulders, the locked jaw.

so he simply repeats the question.

and easily enough, the corners of seongwu’s mouth that was set in a firm straight line curls upwards into his trademark smile. a front always. “oh, you mean, the first recording session of produce 101?” seongwu queries before letting out a chuckle. he tilts his head. “don’t tell me you’re already forgetting things, minhyun?”  

minhyun is the one that remains quiet this time as he allows his gaze to hover at the end of the world. because no matter how convincing seongwu’s smiles can be to others, they’ve always made minhyun’s chest ache instead. made him feel a wrenching so deep-rooted within the hollows between the spaces of his ribs.

and made him see the truth.

so he takes off his shoes, lets his toes sink into the sand. minhyun’s tone is even and solemn when he replies, “it seems i’ve forgotten a lot of things, haven’t i?” the light shifts, and he sees seongwu’s body still out of the corner of his eye. he slowly continues, “namely, you.”

seongwu’s voice is pinched when he replies stiltedly, “what—“ he clears his throat. “what do you mean?” there’s a small noise of forced laughter, again another brush off.

and minhyun realizes just how much power he wields over seongwu, for his next response could change every single thing.

he knows that they’ll never return to the way they once were.

since if there’s one thing minhyun has learned, is that whilst they are the same people from their first life, they are vastly different as well.

but that’s okay, because whilst kismet is merely a vehicle that allows two lost souls to find each other again—

you still have to actively choose to love with your own very hands.

“the dreams—they all make sense now. i’d tell you about them but i think you already know.” minhyun’s lips quirk upwards. “it’s been a long time, seongwu. centuries too long.”

and then without waiting for a response, minhyun steps forward into the water.

he ignores seongwu’s questioning call of his name.

he continues to take steps towards what is both unfamiliar and familiar to him now. and only when the waves lap against his waist—feeling instead of a tight clenching, a lightness instead—does minhyun stop in his journey.

stops to close his eyes, and to inhale a deep breath of the salty tang of the sea air.

to let the calm water surrounding him clear his mind and to paint the entirety of the forgotten past against the backs of his eyelids, and to take comfort in the invisible rope tethering back to shore, alleviating his fears.

to allow within this one infinite, timeless moment, said past and current present to bleed together as their two paths finally re-connect together again after years of a painfully long chase.

to open his eyes again when he feels a hand, the same warm hand from under the moon touch the sides of his body and pull him backwards. to turn him around.

for minhyun to see that seongwu is right there behind him, standing on land,

voice melding with his to complete the long awaited, elusive song; always waiting for minhyun, lost as the sea, to return home to him.

 

 

`

 

 

“wait, you remember—” seongwu’s voice cracks with overwrought emotion. “ _everything_?”

“yes, i remember everything,” minhyun answers, unwaveringly. “and even more, i remember you—the first you, and the every you.”

 

 

`

 

 

it ends like this:

 

with a searing wish and a hope that this isn’t just another dream. nor a figment of a faraway distant memory.

but because he knows it’s real and physical before him, minhyun reaches up to touch seongwu’s stars, to drag a thumb down the tear streaked path and to end by cupping his jaw, softly placing his fingers on the underside of seongwu’s chin.

to feel the thundering pulse beneath sensitive skin that resonates with his own.

minhyun doesn’t need to kiss seongwu to feel the achingly close proximity of their bodies, distance dissolved rather, by time and a cosmic flow of memories. vivid scenes continue to flood through him like metaphorical waves striking against him, battering him, and minhyun feels like he is drowning in the vast ocean again.

but unlike the last time and the times before, he allows himself to sink further, deeper.

because for once, he can feel his feet touch the ground—touch against land beneath him.

minhyun allows himself, head full of dreams, heart full of songs, to smile and to return seongwu’s unfaltering love with open arms, because minhyun remembers and finally embraces everything:

each and every life returned back to him with a dizzying clarity that strikes hot against his heart.

and they stand there twined together with the knowledge of mutual, unadulterated recognition for the first time in eons and minhyun is overcome as pure rapturous happiness unfurls inside him. and he sees it reflected back in seongwu's own glittering eyes.

“hwang minhyun.” the words are a choir in itself. “welcome back.”

the water continues to ebb and flow around them, caring and healing now. they’re both soaking wet but here there isn’t any more deathly blood spills or exploding supernovas, just simple mercy—human and mortal.

he knows in this moment that although he may be the same first and new sea, and the male before him is the first land that has been grounded just waiting for him to return home all this time—

minhyun will always still be minhyun, and seongwu will always still be seongwu, and that will be just enough.

minhyun takes seongwu’s hands in his and holds on tightly—to never let go. because even if they fall, at least they’ll fall together. like the collapse of the greatest empire that will leave nothing except just the pair of them and the familiar characters heavy on his breath.

“ong seongwu.” the name slips from minhyun’s lips like his most favored prayer. “thank you for waiting.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was for [prompt #24](https://imgur.com/zfqCT08): "minhyun is dead and seongwu reminisces memories of him through colours" -- the lovely (ha..ha) prompt ended up running away from me but i hope it met your expectations well! 
> 
> huge thanks to:
> 
> l; for everything and more. for giving me the missing piece of the puzzle that elevated this to greater heights and for showering me with your love that i hope i can repay even just 10% one day.  
> d; for the very thorough and detailed beta and for the continued reassurance. please know you are an incredible human being.  
> h; for reading this despite not even being in the fandom and for the encouragement and support, always.  
> 
> 
> the mods of siriusrises; for organizing a beautiful and smoothly run fest! and to you, for reading! :)  
> 


End file.
